Page 187 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“Is this room good?”
“It’s great.” I appreciate him not teasing me to sleep in his bed.
He rubs his hands together a bit awkwardly, and I have to admit it’s nice to see him like this. A little nervous and unsure of himself. It makes me feel not so alone. “Let me grab you a shirt.”
While he’s gone, I look around the room and take in the soft, blue-toned palette. Whatever designer he hired to decorate this place did an excellent job on every room.
I open a door and find an attached bathroom done in various tiles all in the same color palette.
“Hey, here’s the shirt and I brought you one of Roe’s brushes.”
I startle, not having heard him come back in.
“Thanks.” I take the soft, heather gray shirt and brush from him.
“You’re welcome.” He looks at me in a way that makes me feel far too exposed. Clearing his throat, he backs a few steps away. “I’ll let you shower. I hope you sleep well.”
“Thanks. Goodnight.”
He closes the bedroom door softly behind him.
Laying the shirt on the counter in the bathroom, I start the shower. It’s late, and I’m tired, but the rain shower is everything dreams are made of, and I find myself staying in the shower longer than I should.
Drying off, I brush out my wet hair and wring out as much of the excess water as I can before I brush it free of any tangles and knots.
Padding across the plush rug in the bedroom, I pull back the thick covers and groan as I slip beneath. I don’t know what kind of mattresses he’s put in this house, but they’re divine.
As tired as I am, I expect to fall asleep straight away, but suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter which way I lay, I can’t get settled.
With a groan, I shove the covers off and eye the clock.
I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t seem to stop myself as I pad out of the bedroom and down the hall to Spencer’s room.
Easing the door open, I peek inside to see if he’s asleep or awake. He sits up and reaches over, turning on the light.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
I shake my head and close the door behind me, leaning against it.
“Is it okay if I maybe sleep in here?” I ask nervously. “Just sleep.”
He reaches over and pulls the blankets back on the opposite side of the bed. A silent invitation.
I quickly cross the length of the room and climb into his bed.
“Thank you.”
“Mhm,” he hums, reaching over to turn the light off. “Night, Low.”
“Goodnight,” I yawn.
Even though the bed is miles big, in the morning, I wake up draped over his body like I subconsciously sought him out in my sleep.
And maybe that’s the thing—time, distance, none of it matters, because we’re always going to be drawn together.
CHAPTER 77
HARLOW
